There is more to life than dragons
by CyborgCinderella
Summary: I never knew dragons were supposed to be dangerous. I didn't even know about dragon hunting, or how much they were feared, until I was nine.   set after movie, hiccupxOC. I'll see where this goes. R&R people!


I never knew dragons were supposed to be dangerous. I didn't even know about dragon hunting, or how much they were feared, until I was nine.

Gran and I, we lived outside town, in a tiny cottage on the borderline between Berk and the wilderness. I used to go into the village for shopping, or feasts. I never really had any friends, never thought too much on it.

I remember we had gone into the village, when all of a sudden bells had started ringing, the clashing, jarring sound hurting my ears and making me clutch at gran's dress in fear.

I remember how tears had poured down my cheeks as I saw the beautiful, gentle beasts I had watched everyday being torn from viciously from the sky with chains and spears. I remember how I screamed to see their iridescent scales dulled with blood and how my heart ached to hear sounds of their dying screams.

I cried all the way home that day. I couldn't understand how the dragons, who seems so peaceful flying through the sky, or bathing in the sunlight reflecting off the lake, could seem so vicious and how the people of the village only seemed to know that side of them. Gran understood. She waited until we were home, until I had a cup of hot mead beside the fire. Then she told me.

Here's the thing about my Gran, she didn't talk much, but when she did, she told stories. She was the best storyteller in the village, and she knew them all, from the legendary tales of the gods, to the earliest whispers of the fairies.

And of course the Dragons, fantastic tales of the beasts. How they were created, how they helped the gods, each story more incredible then the last. I grew up listening to stories about dragons, and when I saw the creatures spiralling through the sky, each beautiful in their own way, I knew they were all true.

But that night, Gran told me a different story, about how the dragons stole and how the Vikings fought, about the war between them that stretched back to before anyone could remember. She knew how I felt, because she loved the dragons too. She told me she remembered a night fury, the most feared dragon of all, had saved her when she was no older than me. Since then she had treated the beasts as equals and had found how gentle they could be.

I continued watching dragons, finding out more about them, and generally avoiding the village. I was happy, living with Gran, having only her and dragons for company. I knew there were kids my own age in the village, but I knew them hardly at all. I never gave a thought to the future.

Then Gran died.

Suddenly I was all alone in the world, only eleven and I had no job or dowry, no** family.**

For a whole day I sat staring at the fire, watching it turn from flames to ashes, as the wise woman of the village took care of my Grans' remains.

I remember someone leading me out to light the funeral pyre and being helped into a cart to someone's house in the village. I found out a few days later that I was going to become the wise woman's apprentice.

I was suddenly hit with the realization that I was now living in the village, surrounded by people I didn't know, in a house that didn't belong to me, with nothing to call my own but the clothes on my back. Not that they were anything to be proud of, they were my gran's old hand-me-downs.

I guess some part of me shut down, because I stopped talking. I worked through the days methodically, burying my grief and insecurity under days of cooking, learning herbs, and cleaning. I detested the evenings.

Every night I would cry as I saw the battle rage between the people of the village and the dragons. After a while, I stopped crying. I would just stare at the thatched roof of my loft room as I lay mute on my bed, numb to the sounds of pain and bloodlust. I kept everything bottled in.

The only person I communicated with was the wise woman and even then using as few words as possible. Whenever she caught me staring out to sea, or simply at the wall, with my eyes blurred with tears I wouldn't let fall and my fists clenched she would only sigh and lay a bony hand on my shoulder, looking at me sadly with those wise eyes.

"Miseog, time is a healer, but he can only heal what is shown to him. Let it out." She would whisper in her thin, reedy voice, so like my Grans.

I never listened.

-**xxxxx**-

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><p>Over the years, things improved. I'm sure you know Hiccup, Berks' hero? I don't think I've ever met him properly, but when I was thirteen, he saved the village, and showed them all what dragons really were.<p>

Slowly, life seemed to be looking up. Dragons flew without fear over Berk, and many now had riders. This was something I have never seen before, but when I saw the bond each dragon seemed to have with its rider, all my doubts vanished.

I thought I would be joyful when I saw the Dragons finally at peace with the village people. It was only when I saw everyone so content, laughing and in harmony that I saw it.

That I wasn't happy.

That I was alone.

That there is more to life then Dragons.

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><p><strong>YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY that is sightly better than the last one there. Slightly. anyway, this is a REDO still the same story, to that one person who seems to have read it. heeeeeeeeeeey wanna make me happy to be alive? click that button<strong>

** vvvvvvvvvvvvvvv thankies! ^^**


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